


It's a Dummy

by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Three Garridebs Moment, AU, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krullenbol2602/pseuds/Johnnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mary had taken the shot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on Tumblr: http://savedbyholmes.tumblr.com/post/112591982768/i-wonder-what-would-have-happened-if-mary-had

‘How badly do you want to find out?’

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening! This was a dream, a horrible nightmare. John felt sick. He wanted to scream, to grab Mary –  _no not Mary! Who the hell is she? –_  and shake her, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with her. She shot Sherlock! His wife, his pregnant wife, shot his best friend and was now carrying a gun with too much ease and no hesitation to use it again.

John knew Sherlock was just around the corner, out of her sight – ‘ _you have to trust me John, you need to hear it. I’m sorry.’ –_  but he couldn’t hear what he was saying to Mary on the phone. But whatever it was, Mary straightened her back –  _wrong, wrong this is wrong! –_ tilting her head as she regarded him. That look…

‘I’ve dealt with worse.’ 

John’s ears were still ringing from the cold tone of Mary’s voice when she raised the gun. He didn’t hear the gun firing. He did hear Sherlock’s voice – _strange, why did he sound panicked?_  – at the same time the pain in his chest registered. 

_Oh._

It was a good thing he was already sitting down because he could feel the strength leave his body. Like a puppet whose strings were cut. His vision blacked out for a moment and a pained groan escaped him on the exhale.

‘John!’ Sherlock’s voice suddenly rang loud and clear in his ears and John wanted to do nothing more than to reach out to reassure him. But he can’t move and he can’t breathe and oh dear God, this is it! This was wrong…this was all so wrong… 

‘Oh God…no, please…John!’

‘John, stay awake, listen to me! What do I do? John…’

_God, Sherlock…_

John couldn’t even care about Mary’s gasps and mutterings. She was crying, he could hear it, but Sherlock’s voice sounded absolutely wrecked. He was lying on the floor –  _when did that happen? –_ and Sherlock’s pale face was suddenly looming over him. He was not looking at him, but at his chest.

‘I don’t care!’ Sherlock suddenly shouted, his face turning to Mary’s general direction and if John were lucid he would have fallen to his knees at the mere sight of Sherlock’s fury on his face. ‘If you love him even half as much as I do, then you’ll call him. NOW!’

A sudden rush of pain shocked his system and he can hear himself screaming. ‘Stay still, John, please…you can’t die. I won’t let you, you hear it? I won’t let you!’

Sherlock’s hands were pressing down now, forcing his blood to stay inside him. 

John wanted to tell him to be careful but his words were slurring and he still couldn’t breathe and it felt like he was drowning –  _my lungs, she hit my lung!_ – and he could  hear Mary’s trembling voice in the background but Sherlock was still talking to him. ‘…please, John, they’ll be here. Hold on, please, I’m begging you, don’t die…’

‘Sher…’

‘Shut up!’

But he couldn’t. He needed to – ‘Sherlo…’

‘No, don’t you dare,’ Sherlock gritted out and finally –  _finally_  – he looked up to meet John’s eyes.

It wasn’t fair. That he had to die to see the love in those pale eyes. It was too late and they had been so stupid and God it hurt so much! ‘You’re not saying goodbye.’ Sherlock’s eyes were begging him to keep fighting, to hold on, but John could feel the cold settle into his bones.

With all the strength he had left, he lifted his own hand to clasp Sherlock’s bony wrist. He could feel Sherlock’s pulse fluttering against his fingers –  _stupid git, escaping the hospital after being shot. We could both die right here, at the hands of the woman I brought into our lives in the first place, while I could have had…God Sherlock I love you so much! –_ and John didn’t even knew what words he was saying out loud, if he made any kind of sense at all, but Sherlock was crying now and John tried to tighten his hold.

But his vision was darkening and he could hear Sherlock calling out to him, commanding him to wake up.

John wanted to tell him that he was awake, only his lips wouldn’t move and his breath stilled in his throat.


	2. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

_‘How badly do you want to find out?’_

Sherlock’s stomach rolled at the sound of a gun being readied and he wondered how he could have missed this? Sweet, clever Mary. So quick to befriend him, so tolerant of John’s need to go with him, chasing criminals through dark alleyways. Patching them up while they’re both still grinning like madmen, completely high on adrenaline.

He could see her now, in his mind’s eye, back straight, gun in her hand. Was she aiming? Or was she waiting for him to make the next move?

 _God, John, I am so sorry._  

John had trusted him instantly. He had allowed Sherlock to explain –  _‘you need to hear it. I’m sorry.’ –_ he had promised to stay still – ‘ _don’t move, don’t say anything, please!’ –_ until the lights would be turned on. But Sherlock hated this. He hated every single second of him having to lay it bare for John. He hated himself for not seeing sooner, for being blinded by sentiment and he hated her.

Oh God, how he hated her!

‘If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard can get somewhere with that.’

Later, he would blame the pain for his lack of foresight. He would blame whatever was left of the morphine in his system. He would blame himself for weeks, months to come.

She was supposed to have backed down – her behaviour in Magnussen’s office and the hospital was a clear indication that she did not want John to find out. Above everything else, she should have wanted to keep this from John. 

_‘I’ve dealt with worse.’_

It were not her words that forced him into action –  _so slow, Sherlock, so very slow! –_ it wasn’t even the sound of her gun firing. But John’s groan…

‘John!’

The scream ripped from his throat as he rushed past the frozen figure of Mary, ignoring the pain in his own body.

Sherlock would never forget the sound of John’s breath leaving him. He would never forget the way John’s body sagged in the wheelchair, how heavy he felt in his arms. And the blood, John’s blood on his hands as he tried to remove John’s clothing out the way with trembling fingers.

‘John, stay awake, listen to me! What do I do? John…’ Sherlock was rambling, but he didn’t care. Not while John’s eyes were fluttering closed and his cheeks lost their colour and the blood is still pouring out of him and  _oh God, please no John, don’t you dare die!_

Sherlock could hear Mary’s gasps behind him and Sherlock would have killed her if he could. But John is dying, he is dying because of her and damn it all to Hell if he would let her get away with this.

‘Call Mycroft!’ he snapped at her. Sherlock could see her face become a sickening pale shade. The gun has fallen from her hands and her eyes were still fixed on John’s face. Not his chest. Not at the damage she has done, but his face! ‘Do it, Mary.’

Her head was shaking. ‘I can’t lose him…’

She doesn’t mean  _this_ , Sherlock knows. He knows and he hates her and he would kill her if only his hands were not busy trying to prevent the blood leaving John’s body. Even now, even now she thinks of no one but herself.

‘I don’t care!’ he heard himself shouting. ‘If you love him even half as much as I do, then you’ll call him. NOW!’

Sherlock pressed down, hard, and suddenly he felt John shift underneath him. ‘Stay still, John, please…you can’t die. I won’t let you, you hear it? I won’t let you!’

John’s ragged breathing sounded wet –  _his lung! She shot his lung! Pneumothorax and blood in the lung, only one lung left to do the breathing, he is going into shock, he is losing too much blood and John can’t breathe and he’ll die! –_ and he pressed harder, desperate to keep the hole closed.

‘Please John, I’m sorry.’ Sherlock could hear his own voice breaking, eyes fixed on John’s chest. But Mary is calling, he can hear her talking, help is on the way. Mycroft will be here soon. ‘Please, John, they’ll be here. Hold on, please, I’m begging you, don’t die…’

‘Sher…’

No, not this can’t be happening! This is wrong, this can’t happen. He can’t lose John, not now, dear God please, not now! John can’t say goodbye. He won’t let him.

‘Shut up!’

‘Sherlo…’

‘No, don’t you dare,’ Sherlock gritted out and finally – finally – he looked up to meet John’s eyes.

It wasn’t fair. He could see the understanding dawn in John’s eyes and he was crying and Sherlock wanted to scream. This wasn’t fair! ‘You’re not saying goodbye.’

A dry sob escaped him when he felt John’s cold fingers encircle his wrist. He struggled to get the words out and Sherlock could barely hear him but he doesn’t have to. Those eyes, those beautiful grey eyes are telling him all he needs to know and Sherlock hates it. He doesn’t want to know like this, not with one of them bleeding and dying.

The loss of the strength in John’s hand is sudden, too sudden and John is looking straight through him now, his lips still. ‘No…John. John, wake up! Don’t you dare!’

But he is not moving and he can hear Mary let out a cry of horror. No. No, not like this. John will not die on the cold hard ground. He will die when he is grey and wrinkled and his fingers can no longer type and not a moment sooner!

Sherlock moves his hands, placing them over John’s heart and presses down.

_One. Two. Three. Come on John breathe. Six. Seven. Please, for me, breathe._


	3. Us

’32 seconds.’ 

Sherlock found he couldn’t look at John’s face – he can fool himself like this. He can pretend he isn’t wrong – so he kept his eyes focused on his chest. John’s chest, where the bullet from Mary’s gun tore a hole through him because of Sherlock. Because he thought he was being clever, because he thought he knew her and it caused John’s heart to stop! 

Sherlock allowed himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain in his own chest. He was healing still – his own heart had threatened to give out once he was loaded up in the ambulance and the surgery to repair the damage he had done to himself had been taxing. But he didn’t care. Not now.

Not with John lying on that damnable bed. 

‘For 32 seconds I forced your heart to beat. In those 32 seconds I filled your lungs, twice, with my air.’

It made Sherlock sick that the only time he could feel John’s lips with his own was when he had been forcing his air into John’s struggling lungs.

‘I will never forgive you for that,’ Sherlock vowed, still not looking away from John’s chest, ‘and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I didn’t… I should have known, I always know!’ He wasn’t crying – his tears had run out long before – but his chest felt tight and his throat burned and he couldn’t – 

‘Breathe, S’lock…’

Sherlock inhaled deeply before forcing the air out again. The room snapped back into focus in his mind – the beeping of the machines registering John’s heartbeat, the soft green colour on the walls that was meant to calm, John’s heart beating steady, the sound of the nurses’ station opposite of John’s room and John’s stable, beating heart! – and he moved his gaze up to John’s face.

John was staring at him, eyes a bit glazed from the painkillers but alert. Awake. Fully, finally, after days of living in limbo, he was awake!

‘Not funny,’ he muttered weakly and John smiled. Sherlock felt the need to rush over, to kiss that audacious smile off his face, to replace the horrible memories of having John’s lips not responding against his own with something better. But he was still stuck in his wheelchair – his nurse had been completely unforgiving and unrelenting no matter how hard Sherlock tried to blackmail her – so he settled on placing his hand over John’s. 

‘Never again, John, please, promise me,’ Sherlock begged. John turned his hand to tangle their fingers together and squeezed. His eyes are red-rimmed now, making the blue in them shine even brighter and it is too much, he nearly lost this forever because he didn’t see, because he failed to keep the one man he loved with all his being, safe. ‘I couldn’t… I would have torn her apart if you’d…’

John’s look rendered him silent and he knows. He knows that John would have done the same if their positions had been reversed. If he had died, John would not have stopped hunting for the person responsible.

His hand pulled and Sherlock followed willingly, struggling to stand up from his chair, until their foreheads are resting against each other.

They were both silent, allowing themselves to feel the other man’s breath on their skin. So close. They came so close to losing this before it ever truly began. Sherlock despises himself for ever telling John that breathing was boring. Because it wasn’t. Because right now, Sherlock would give everything to ensure John would never stop breathing again.

When Sherlock’s legs started trembling from exertion, he slid back into the wheelchair but they kept their hands entwined. In the silence that followed, Sherlock counted the heartbeats the monitor displayed and kept carefully track of the number of breaths coming from John. Meanwhile, he pretended not to notice that John’s fingers had moved to his pulse and didn’t stop searching until Sherlock could feel his pulse beating against them.

Sherlock didn’t know how long they stayed like that. They probably should call someone, alert the doctor that this time John was fully awake instead of his drifting in and out of consciousness of the last few days. But he didn’t want this to end. Not yet. 

Which was why he wished he had never taken a look at John’s nightstand.

The golden band that once adorned John’s finger was on there, along with his watch. But Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the wedding ring. He had cursed that thing before, when he had to witness Mary slide it on John’s finger – he had been spared the horror of looking for the rings – and he cursed it now. It seemed so small and insignificant but the mere sight of it caused Sherlock’s brain to settle on the woman who nearly killed them both.

‘Mycroft has her,’ Sherlock started after a deep breath, ‘she…' 

‘Shut up, Sherlock.’

John’s sudden command startled Sherlock, but before he could ask, John explained. ‘She doesn’t… She is not a part of this. Not anymore. Please, Sherlock. Just… just the two of us, okay?’

Sherlock turned to him, met John’s pleading gaze and found himself nodding.

 

_Just us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting on this little angst filled journey of mine.


End file.
